


Realizations

by MortalLover



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 22,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24729160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortalLover/pseuds/MortalLover
Summary: Set between the prologue and first chapter of ROTG (because I don't feel there is enough written during this time). A series of one shots detailing moments of Daine and Numair realizing they are in love.
Relationships: Numair Salmalín/Veralidaine Sarrasri
Comments: 32
Kudos: 80





	1. Counting to Ten

Numair stared at the embers of the campfire, counting to ten before he let his gaze travel to the girl... no the woman... across from him. He had originally been facing away from their campfire, but after turning his body back and forth so many times to catch a glance of her, he had finally resigned himself, and laid facing his student. Now he was at least trying to go a full ten seconds without staring. 

His eyes flickered to her slight form, lying less than two meters from his own. It was odd really, how many things he had never noticed about her before midwinter. Or maybe it was odd all the things he had noticed, but just not recognized? He had always known she was beautiful. He was male after all. Even as a shy and broken thirteen-year-old she had been striking. Now though...had he always known her curls were so soft? He could almost feel them beneath his hand, their smoky brown ringlets brushing his palm as he so often held it to her cheek. He wondered if that was still appropriate now? Had he ever noticed the way her lips turned down, and slightly opened, in a pout while she slept? He longed to brush his own against them. Her fist curled outstretched before her, just outside his reach. Her hand, which he had always seen as so strong and capable, seemed so small and delicate in her sleep. He wished he could reach out and grasp it, just to reassure himself. He sighed loudly, and then stiffened when Daine mumbled something in her sleep and flipped onto her back. He slowly released the breath he was holding as her own breath steadied back into its sleeping rhythm. 

He didn’t know how he was going to do this. The barrier between the Mortal and Devine Realms had fallen less than forty-eight hours ago. Yet, it was the crumbling barrier in his mind which preoccupied his every waking thought. How had he not known? How had he not recognized this? He was arguably the most powerful mage in the mortal realms, but he was powerless to the eclipsing emotion that was engulfing him. 

He glanced back at the dying embers, and counted to ten.


	2. Finding Footing

Daine shifted in her saddle. _Stop fidgeting, you haven’t sat still since we left the stables._ _It's_ _like you are a foal again._ Cloud’s mind voice broke through Daine's cluttered thoughts. Daine apologized to Cloud and attempted to settle into the saddle, trying her best to ignore the dark gaze of the man riding six feet to her left. 

“He just won’t stop staring.” Daine told the mare in mind speech. “I thought he was finally getting over that over-protectiveness, but now he’s worse than ever.” The girl shifted her seat again. 

_I mean it. I will dump you here, I don’t care if I have to train another rider...you will sit still._ The mare stopped and pawed the ground in front of her. 

Numair pulled his own gelding to a halt and reached out towards Daine. “Sweetling, is everything okay?” His face was contorted with worry and Daine felt her frustration with the overprotective mage rise. 

“I’m fine!” she snapped, nudging Cloud into a trot. 

_You shouldn’t be so short with him...the_ _Storkman_ _is only trying to take care of his herd._ The mare snorted. 

“He’s getting ridiculous...he actually picked me up and placed me in the saddle this morning!” Daine could tell that even in mind speech she was yelling. Her mind traveled back to earlier in the day when she had been saddling their mounts. She had just cinched Cloud’s girth when she felt a pair of hands lift her gently into the saddle. She had glanced down surprised, only to see Numair expertly avoiding her gaze. His thumbs had absentmindedly grazed her hip bones a few times, before he dropped his hold on her waist. He had walked around Cloud, gently placing her boots in the stirrups. He paused, still holding her right boot, took a deep breath as if to say something, only to squeeze her calf and walk over to Spots without a word. Daine had been too caught off guard to say anything...but then had spent the first few hours of their ride brooding over it. 

At first she had thought it was sweet. She had relished Numair’s touch since they first met, and he was so careful about where and when he allowed it. It was only ever the barest of touch, never when others could see...only ever embracing her where the gossips couldn't twist it. Then she remembered his conversation with the king from the night before... 

* * *

“Jon, all I am saying is that she could stay here...I’ll send a speech spell if I have any questions about how to deal with them!” Numair’s voice had reached that dangerous clip that Daine knew meant his magic was about to become visible. 

“Numair calm down, you are being ridiculous!” The king reached out towards the mage, but then seemed to think better of it. “She will be perfectly safe Numair, they are only unicorns.” 

“What about the fever Jon?” a black haze seemed to be radiating off of Numair now. 

“What about it Numair?” Jon seemed exacerbated now. “The fever is self-limiting, and rarely leaves lasting effects.” 

“She has wild magic Jon; we don’t know how it might affect her!” Numair snapped. Sparks lit the room. 

“Numair...stop it!” Daine stepping out from where she had been hidden in the shadow of the doorframe. The black fire shifted back into Numair like water being sucked down a drain. 

“Daine...” Numair’s voice came out in a cracked pleading whisper. 

“No Numair...I am going, and that’s final.” She turned and left the room without another glance. 

* * *

Daine sighed slowing Cloud back down to a walk, and glancing at the mage who was now a good several hundred yards behind her, trying to coax his gelding to catch up with the girl. This morning her first inclination had been that Numair was being sweet, apologetic even, but then she had realized he was just being his ridiculous over protective self. “He doesn’t even think I can mount a horse on my own.” She turned and faced forward again, biting down hard on her lip. 

_I think he just needed to touch you._ It was Spot’s voice that broke through her mind this time. _Don’t get me wrong, he’s worried about you, same as always. But there is something else there that I don’t recognize._ _I've_ _felt it on other riders, but never on him. I think it scares him, whatever it is. When he touches you, that fear goes away._ _He’s like a colt, unsure and unsteady on his feet. But when he touches you...he finds his footing again. You calm him._ The gelding had caught up with them now, and reached over and nipped at Daine’s boot. _He knows you can mount up on your own_ _Daine_ _, but this morning..._ The gelding trailed off, sounding confused, and flicked his ears back towards the mage. _I don’t think he could...not without touching you._

Daine pulled Cloud to a halt, and Numair glanced at her worriedly, but didn’t say anything. “Numair, can we dismount for a minute?” She didn’t wait for him to answer as she slid off the mare’s back, her boots making the dust puff up around them. The mage cautiously lowered his tall frame to the ground, leading his mount to stand beside hers. Daine let Cloud’s reigns drop and wrapped her arms around her teacher’s middle, burying her face in the V of his tunic, and inhaling the unique scent of spices and parchment that could only be Numair. She could feel his heart beating against her cheek, the rhythm far too fast and hard for their few hours of leisurely paced riding. Hesitantly his arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her even closer to him, his lips brushing her curls. She held him there...let him hold her...until his heart beat slowed against her ear. Yet, peculiarly, she only felt her own quicken. 


	3. When?

Numair placed his head in his hands, and sighed. He was exhausted. He needed sleep, but he didn’t think it would come. Not only was he unable to sort his disordered thoughts into organized meditation, but this inn only had one room...and _one bed._

It was difficult enough getting any sleep across a campfire from Daine...but to be in the same bed. He didn’t know how he was supposed to get any rest. 

He slowly lowered himself onto the far side of the small bed, making sure that no part of their bodies touched. He closed his eyes, trying again to meditate, and focus on anything but the warmth radiating off of the woman lying next to him. 

He couldn’t get his mind to empty. It refused to relinquish the obsessive thought that had occupied it since the fall of the barrier. 

Numair had always loved Daine. He knew that. He remembered recognizing it was love when she had stopped her heart to try and hear dolphins. For the full minute and a half it had taken Alanna to restart her heart, his own heart had felt like it no longer had a reason to keep beating. He couldn’t figure out when he had fallen _in_ love with her though.

He had already been in love with her in Carthak. That was obvious now. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t considered it, that he hadn’t recognized it for what it was, then. He had been so incredibly jealous of Kaddar, and he had all but ignored Varice’s blatant and obvious advances. When Ozorne had taken her he had almost gone mad with panic. The mere memory of it made his heart rate increase and his throat tighten, despite her sleeping form lying clearly safe before him. 

It had been before Carthak though, he was sure of that...and ashamed to realize that it was probably as far back as Dunlath. He hadn’t taken a lover since they had come back from that valley. He had no longer had any desire to. Daine was his _pack_ ...he didn’t need anyone else. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he hadn’t wanted her in the way a man desires a woman back then. Yet, he knew that he had fallen in love with her mind, her spirit, and her personality. He realized now that he had subconsciously known then that no one else would ever be able to compare. The solace in this thought was short lived. No, he had not wanted her the way a man wants a woman ...but he had wanted _her_. He had wanted her to himself almost since the moment he had met her. He had wanted to be her best friend, her confidant, her person...and he had been horribly possessive. 

He shivered as the embers in the small hearth began to die out, but didn’t dare to shift underneath the blankets, for fear of waking Daine. She had collapsed, exhausted and fully clothed, on top of the blankets...completely unaware that the mage would spend the next two candle marks debating sleeping on the stone floor. He wondered if she was cold? Should he get up and restart the fire? 

Numair didn’t have the chance to act on this thought. He felt a familiar arm wrap across his chest, and her small cold hand slide into the V of his tunic, palm resting against his heart. His eyes flew open, and he stiffened, waiting for the panic to come. Eventually, he became aware that Daine was still asleep, her body simply unconsciously seeking his for warmth in the cold. 

And suddenly...just like that, his mind quieted, nothing in the world seemed to matter, and Numair could _breathe._ He wrapped his arm around her slim body and pulled her towards him, tucking her head into his shoulder. The feel of her breathing, like a metronome, slowly lulling him to sleep. 


	4. Foul Mood

Daine winced as her fingers snagged in her hair, tugging at her scalp. “You aren’t going to have any hair left if you keep doing that.” Onua sighed and stopped shoveling manure, leaning on her pitchfork to frown at the girl. “You’ve been fidgety all week youngling...come on, out with it” she said. 

Daine exhaled slowly. She didn’t particularly know what was wrong with her, and she told Onua so. The K’mir snorted. “Well if you ask me, it has something to do with your missing six-foot four-inch shadow.” Onua picked up her pitchfork and began mucking out the stall again. “Your foul mood basically coincided with the minute Jon sent him away, and if I had to guess, it won't get better until he comes back.” She laughed and Daine scowled in response. 

“I am not in a foul mood.” Daine paused, realizing she was about to run her fingers through her hair again. “I’m just...I’m just worried Onua” she whispered. “The man has no common sense,” she stared at the piece of straw stuck to her left boot lace. “He gets in so much trouble without me.” 

The older woman paused again, this time leaning her pitchfork against the wall of the stall, and stepping over to lean on the door of the stall Daine occupied. “You know he will be fine Daine.” She squeezed the girl's shoulder reassuringly. “He’s just gone to the City of the Gods. The only people he will be meeting will be just as ‘common senseless’ as him. Ultimately, he would be much more powerful than them if anything did happen.” 

Daine bit down on her lip, but nodded just the same. “I just wish I could have gone with him.” No matter how much Numair had tried, he couldn’t convince Jon that Daine would be of any use in a meeting of “desk bound scholars.” So Daine had been left behind, and Numair had ridden Spots off to the City of the Gods to spend a fortnight researching barrier spells. 

“I don’t know what the two of you are going to do if the other ever settles down and marries” Onua said. “You are utterly lost without one another...it's rather pathetic.” She laughed when Daine scowled again. “Don’t worry youngling, your mage is just as possessive of you as you are of him. I hear he's already sent Jon three speech spells to make sure you are still in Corus. Thayet said he threatened to turn Jon into a tree if he sent you out alone.” The older woman’s eyes crinkled as she tried to hold back another laugh. “You're right that the man has no common sense...to threaten his king” she lost her battle and gave into another fit of laughter. 

“You aren’t exactly making me feel any better Onua,” Daine said reproachfully, though she couldn’t hold back a small smile. “I ‘spose I am being fair ridiculous. I'm sorry.” She heaved a fresh pile of straw onto the stall floor. 

“He will be back before you know it Daine,” Onua smiled sympathetically, and moved to pick up her pitchfork again. Daine knew she was right...but she couldn’t help but wonder about something else the woman had said. “ _I don’t know what the two of you are going to do if the other ever settles down and marries.”_ That thought, Daine realized, _did_ put her in a foul mood. 


	5. Braid

Numair did his best to keep his hands from shaking as he gently wove his fingers through her smoky brown curls. He felt her shiver as his fingers grazed her scalp, and swallowed hard to steady himself. This was his own fault after all.

Daine shifted back into his hands, her small body placed between his long legs, and her back brushing up against the fallen red oak he was sitting on. What had he been thinking, asking her if she wanted him to do this? He had severely underestimated the effect this would have on his self-control.

He hadn't really been thinking...or he had, but only about her. Always only about her. Now, sitting here with her tucked so intimately in the circle of his body, he tried hard not to regret the decision he had made a week ago...

* * *

Numair smiled when he heard the light laughter coming from the stable isle outside Cloud’s stall. He wondered what dry comment the mare had made now, to cause Daine to sound so amused. He rounded the corner, fully intending to wheedle the information out of her, only to stop dead, horrified at the site before him.

Daine sat on an overturned feed trough, her lean legs stretched out before her, and the ends of her breeches rolled up to expose her crossed ankles. Alanna stood behind the wild mage, her hands pulling the girl’s hair back into a horse tail at the base of her neck, and a pair of shears held precariously between her teeth. 

“What are you doing?!” His voice came out in a strained shriek, and Alanna looked up at him baffled. 

“What does it look like she’s doing Draper? The girl is getting a haircut.” Buri’s stoic voice broke through his panic. He turned to see her sitting against the stall across from Cloud’s, methodically polishing a worn pair of riding boots. 

“You're cutting your hair?” He met Daine’s blue-grey eyes, and was ashamed to hear the dismay in his voice. 

“I'm still dealing with a tangled nest from the last time we were out Numair.” He was embarrassed to realize she was using the same tone she used with wounded animals. “It would just be easier to not have to mess with it” Daine said sensibly. 

“You could pull it back...” Numair said weakly. 

“I’ve never been very good at that,” Daine frowned. “I don’t even know how to braid, and hair ties and headscarves tend to fall off when I shift...it's just too much to deal with.” She looked up at him almost pleadingly. 

Numair swallowed. “Okay magelet,” he whispered, despising himself for not being able to keep the disappointment and hesitancy from his voice. 

Alanna rolled her eyes. “For Mithros’ sake Numair, it's just hair!” she said, sounding exasperated. 

He nodded, meeting Daine’s gaze one more time, and trying to offer a reassuring smile, before wandering out of the stable. Alanna was right of course. Numair knew he was being ridiculous...but he loved Daine’s hair. 

Several candle marks later Numair was surprised to see Daine in the rider’s mess, her hair exactly as it had always been, curling wildly around her face and refusing to be tamed by her head scarf. She met his gaze across the mess of rowdy riders, and gave him a sheepish smile. His eyes locked with hers, and he made a decision. 

It took him a while to figure out who to ask. At first he considered Thayet, but he quickly determined that his queen was far too perceptive. He wasn’t ready to have _that_ discussion yet. Alanna was instantly discarded as an option. He doubted this would even be a skill she possessed. 

So here he found himself, standing in the officer’s quarters of the rider’s barracks, trying to figure out how to ask this particular favor. 

“Buri, can I talk to you?” he said, tilting his head towards the door in the hope she would get the hint that this was something he would prefer to discuss in a more discreet manner. He glanced warily at Sarge, wishing the giant of a man would stop grinning at him. 

“Talk away Draper,” Buri said, not even glancing up from the leather straps of the saddle she was repairing, and certainly not making a move to talk to the mage in private. 

Numair shifted from foot to foot uneasily. Best to come straight out with it then. He would just have to deal with whatever mocking this brought on. “Buri, can you...can you teach me how to braid?” 

He heard Sarge guffaw, but Buri’s hands paused. She slowly raised her eyes to meet his own, her expression startled for a minute, before settling back into its impassive mask. Numair realized he had been mistaken in thinking Thayet was the perceptive one. 

Buri set the saddle aside, and held his gaze, studying him. “Are you sure that is something you would like to do Numair?” Her voice was steady, but he saw something he couldn’t quite recognize flash in her dark eyes. 

He knew what she was asking...and he understood the importance of conveying the truth to the woman. He met her unwavering gaze with his own. 

“No Buriram Tourakom... it is something I'd _love_ to do,” he said.

She scrutinized him for a few moments longer, then stood, wiping her palms on the front of her breeches. “Well, let's teach you the proper way to braid then.” 

* * *

So here he sat, his hands shaking, slowly weaving Daine’s hair into the tight complex plait that Buri had spent three days teaching him. His fingers snagged on her hair a few times, and he whispered “sorry,” his breathing becoming ragged. 

It took him longer than it should have, but he reached the end of her hair, and slowly looped it to tie it in on itself the way Buri had shown him. He sighed, grazing his thumb across the nape of her neck, and laying a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. 

Daine didn’t move, and all of the sudden he realized she was shaking. She turned towards him, and he was distressed to see her eyes were glistening with tears. 

“Sweet, I’m so sorry...” he said, panicked. “I'm not very practiced at it yet...I didn’t mean to pull so hard.” Daine shook her head, even as a tear broke loose and rolled down her cheek. “Oh magelet...you should cut your hair if that’s what you want” he choked. "I didn't mean to discourage you... I ..." 

He was cut off when Daine threw her arms tightly around his neck. He froze, before gently wrapping his own arms around her, and holding her body close to his. 

"You learned to braid for me...?" Her voice trembled, and he tightened his hold. She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "I don't deserve you Numair." Her voice caught, and she tilted her forehead down into his shoulder. 

"I would do anything for you Daine." He said, brushing his lips against her hair. He felt her choke back another sob. 

They sat there holding one another for a long time, the sun beginning to set behind the tops of the trees. 

"I would do anything for you too Numair." Daine's voice had steadied. She kissed his forehead, stood, and walked to the center of the camp, bending to start their fire. 

He watched her fiddle with the end of her braid, as the kindling sparked into a flame, lighting the little clearing they were camped in. _That's what I'm afraid of magelet..._


	6. Preening

Daine stared up at the ceiling, watching the birds roost in the rafters, and counting each feather that fluttered down to the floor. It was her first time back in her bed in the rider’s barracks in a month, and she wasn’t going to be able to enjoy it. She had had difficulty sleeping for a while now, since Carthak if she was honest. It wasn’t that she couldn’t fall asleep, but she dreaded the dreams that took hold when she did. It was always worse after a day like today... 

She flipped onto her side, staring at the wall, and counting each crack in the chinking. Her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but she fought the urge to shut them. If she closed her eyes she knew what she would see... 

_His lanky form stepping into her line of site, forcing her to drop her arrow down, and then the cloud of thick yellow fog enveloping him, causing him to disappear..._

She felt the tightening in her throat, as she remembered the feeling of panic that had consumed her when she lost sight of him. She could hear her own scream, his name echoing off of the walls of the keep, as she had shifted into the first bird of prey she could think of, a peregrine, and tumbled off the battlements. She had barely caught the wind with her wings, when the yellow fog dissipated, and she could visualize his form kneeling next to the fallen wyvern, his body racking with coughs. 

She had flown to him then, the idiot, and landed on his shaking shoulders. She had screeched her dismay, fully intending to reprimand the mage for taking such an unnecessary risk. 

The immortal had been in her bow site. She could have easily disposed of the creature before it reached the battlement! 

Instead, before she could form another screech, Numair had reached his trembling hand up to stroke her ruffled feathers. “I'm alright magelet,” he whispered. Daine had heard in his voice just how drained he was. They hadn’t even been a day out from a week’s long battle with spidrens when they had received the call home to Corus to deal with these winged legless monsters. 

He was as exhausted as her. Yet, he had drained himself further. She fought her growing panic, and gave into her instinctual urge to preen the man, running her beak through his dark locks, and feeling him arch into her touch. 

“It's okay sweet” he murmured, closing his eyes, and leaning back on his heels. She had chattered nervously, running her beak repeatedly through his hair, as much to keep him awake as to reassure herself that he was still warm and breathing. 

It had taken what felt like ages, but help had finally arrived in the form of two pages. They had loaded the mage onto a prancing gelding, and led him up towards the castle. His body had still convulsed with cough, and Daine had hovered worriedly at his side, preening him. She had ignored his mumbled assurances that he would be fine. 

Duke Baird had only just laid Numair onto a too short cot in the healer’s wing when the king had burst through the door. Daine, who had just regained her human form and stood in a plain muslin gown usually afforded only to patients, suddenly realized that her king possessed far more resolve than she. 

“What were you thinking!” Jon’s voice had reached an octave that the girl had never heard before. “Could you not just let it be? Did you have to try to kill yourself to be the hero!” Numair had merely stared at his king, offering nothing but a small infuriating smile. This seemed to set the king off further. His sapphire blue eyes flashed. “archers can do for wyverns as well as you!” He shouted, turning toward the door. “There may well come something that archers can’t fight...then I will need you. Don’t go bloody get yourself killed!” a bang echoed through the corridor, as the king slammed the door behind him. 

Daine had stayed in the healer’s wing with Numair until he had drifted off to sleep. Even then she had sat at his side, running her fingers through his hair. She would have stayed there, preening him in her human form, but Duke Baird had insisted she leave to eat and sleep. 

So here she lay, counting cracks in the chinking, and fearing sleep. She knew she would dream about losing him. It had been that way since Carthak. Her dreams were usually formless, only consisting of that empty hollow feeling she had felt when Kaddar had told her of his execution. 

She couldn’t face it. 

She thought about going back up to the healer’s wing, insisting she be let in, and staking herself at his bedside. But it wasn’t appropriate. She knew to do so would only fuel the gossip that already surrounded her in the court. 

She found herself longing to be back on the road. On assignment she could sleep across the campfire from Numair, close enough to hear his breathing, and feel the warmth radiating off his form. On the road it was just her and him...and nothing else mattered. 

She flipped to her other side, her gaze landing on the door to her tiny storage closet of a room. She sat up, realizing the light leaching through the crack at the bottom of the door was broken up in the middle. She stood, slowly crossing the floor boards, and avoiding the spot that creaked when you stepped on it. 

She opened the door; her eyes traveling down to rest on the man sitting with his back against the doorjamb. 

“Numair?” she knelt, gently shaking the sleeping mage. “What are you doing here? You should be in the healer’s wing.” She tried, and failed, to make her voice sound as stern as the king’s. 

His eyes flickered open, and the ghost of a smile played across his still too pale face. “I am sorry for scaring you magelet.” His hand reached up, and his fingers raked through her curls. Daine couldn’t help but wonder if he realized they were starting to preen one another in times of stress, just like her bird friends. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. “You ought to be in bed...you're in fair enough trouble with the king as it is.” 

He smiled. “Jon doesn’t scare me sweet...but I couldn’t rest knowing you were angry with me.” His tone was playful, but she could see in his eyes that he was worried. His thumb stroked her cheekbone, and Daine turned her face into his palm. 

“I just...just...don’t leave me Numair,” her voice cracked. She dropped her gaze, ashamed to hear the fear in her voice. Her Gallan accent was heavy. “I’d be fair lost without you. Please don’t go where I can’t follow.” 

He took her in his arms then, her head tucked into his chest. 

“ _Never_ ” he whispered, fingers again preening through her curls. 

It was with that uttered promise that Daine finally succumbed to sleep.


	7. Always

Numair watched Daine across the campfire, studying the way her lips parted in concentration, and the way the spring breeze twisted her curls. It was ridiculous to be jealous of an animal, but he couldn’t help the surge of envy he felt when she laughed at something while conversing with the fox curled in her lap. Nothing he said could ever garner the attention she gave to healing one of the people. 

He had come very close to confessing to Daine in the first few weeks after the fall of the barrier. He was losing his resolve. He thought time would make it easier, but it was only getting more difficult. She had been his best friend for years now. He wasn’t used to hiding things from her, and certainly not things as monumental as this. Carthak had taught him that secrets had no place in their relationship. Yet, here he was, faced with the biggest discovery of his life, and he couldn’t share it with her. 

Truth be told, he _had_ lost his resolve once, when she had been delusional with fever. He hadn’t been able to keep it in... but he knew he couldn't let that happen again. 

* * *

“Numair, you are being utterly ridiculous...she is fine, go get some sleep.” The lioness’ voice was clipped and irritated. She hadn’t been pleased that he had woken her in the middle of the night to come to the healer's wing for this. The purple fire of her magic searched the girl on the cot for the fourth time in two days. “Nothing has changed.” Alanna’s magic retreated back into her as she stood to walk to the door. “It's just as Duke Baird and I have told you over and over...” she sighed. “She will be fine. She just has a fever.” 

“She keeps calling out for me...” Numair’s voice was hoarse, and the redhead paused with her hand on the door. “She was crying for her mother at first, but now she just keeps saying my name.” His voice cracked, and he choked back the sob that threatened to break loose. His eyes never left the young woman lying on the cot before him. He ran his fingers through her smoky brown curls. They were damp with sweat, plastering ringlets to her flushed face. He whispered reassurances as she fought against the heavy pile of blankets that confined her to the bed. A small hand gripped his shoulder. 

“It's just a fever Numair” Alanna repeated, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. All trace of irritation was gone from her voice. “its high enough to make her delirious, but it's not really doing any harm.” She knelt beside the mage, and had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze, despite the fact that he himself was sitting. “She’s probably having nightmares Arram, but when she awakes, she won’t remember any of this.” She brushed the hair back from his face. He had failed to tie it back the last two days. “She will be back to you soon Arram. Stay with her if you must, but try not to agonize over this” she sighed. “Daine would call you a dolt you know.” She smiled, squeezing his hand and standing. 

He heard the door click shut behind him as Alanna returned to her bed. He didn't move. Despite the reassurances of the Lioness, and over half the palace healers, he didn’t think he would be able to sleep until the fever broke. He couldn’t rest until he was sure that there wouldn’t be any lasting damage. He wished he had been more insistent that she stay in Corus. He wished he had been able to deter her when she agreed to try to heal the unicorns with her magic. “oh magelet...” he clasped her small hand in both of his, and pressed it to his lips. She stared at him, her blue-grey eyes unfocused. He wondered if Alanna was right, and if she truly wouldn’t remember any of this. 

“I love you magelet...” he grazed his thumb across her hairline, tracing the line of her face. “Not in the way I loved you when we first met. Not in the way I love our friends. Not in the way I love Tortall...” He kissed her palm again, twining his fingers with hers. “I love you. In the way that you are my very first thought every morning. In the way that you are my last thought every night. In the way that I want to be with you every moment of every day, and I ache when we are apart. In the way that I want to know everything about you, good and bad. In the way that when _you_ hurt, _I_ hurt.” The tears began to fall. “In the way that when you are happy, I am happy...and in the way that I would do anything to make you so.” His thumb grazed her cheek, and he leaned down so their foreheads touched, closing his eyes. “I love you in the forever way magelet . Endlessly, eternally, permanently ... _always_.” 

He felt her fingers twining in the opening of his tunic...and he leaned back to meet her gaze. Her eyes struggled to focus, glazed, but there was a hint of recognition in their depths. _“_ _Numair_ _?”_ Her voice was raspy with fever, but he heard the question in her serious tone. For a moment he was terrified, and exhilarated, that she was coherent. “Why is your hair blue?” 

He laughed, choking back a sob at the same time...she was still delirious. “Shh sweet,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Go back to sleep my love.” Her fingers reached up and tangled in his hair and she frowned, pulling softly. “Don’t worry sweetling, it won’t be blue in the morning” he whispered. She seemed satisfied with that answer, her eyelids flickering shut, and her hand dropping from his hair, though her other still gripped a fistful of his tunic. He gently untangled the small hand from his tunic, and brushed the now drying curls back from her face...suddenly getting an idea. 

* * *

The flames flickered, casting shadows across Daine’s face. She laughed again, bidding farewell to the fox as he disappeared into the underbrush. She looked up, meeting his gaze and smiling, before wandering to her bedroll. He heard her call a soft goodnight, but he didn’t move, afraid he wouldn’t be able to control himself if he got so close now. She had only laid his roll three feet from her own. 

His fingers fiddled with the object on his wrist. He waited until he heard her breathing steady into sleep before making it visible, and sliding into his bedroll. His thumb grazed the smoky brown curl tucked into the locket’s fold. His gaze drifted from the miniature portrait to the identical face lying across from him. _I love you_ , he thought. “Always...” he whispered. 


	8. Dreams & Nightmares

Daine awoke with a start, sitting up in her bedroll, and glancing around. She tried to figure out what had awoken her. It didn't feel wrong, not the way an immortal attack did. Rather, it just felt like a magical disturbance. She glanced around the clearing they were camped in, and sighed when she saw what had roused her.

Numair lay not a meter from her, his entire body radiating with black fire, and sparks of light cracking off of his twisting form. He hadn't been sleeping well for weeks now. His nightmares, if that's what was causing this, had become an almost nightly occurrence. She desperately wanted to comfort him, but he had been rather displeased the last time she had attempted that...

* * *

_"I could have hurt you magelet!" Numair looked horrified, and drew away from the hand she had placed on his chest. "If...if you can see my aura while I'm sleeping it means I..." he trailed off, looking away ashamed. "It means I don't have control of my magic" he whispered. "Please sweet" he begged. "Please promise me you won't try to wake me when that's happening. If something happened... I could never forgive myself." He reached his hand out, as if to brush her hair back, but then let it drop without making contact. "Promise me Daine." His voice was stern, but he didn't wait for her to answer before turning his back to her, and curling back into his bedroll._

* * *

So here they were, black fire radiating off the obviously distraught mage, and she wasn't supposed to do a thing about it.

She wished she could ignore him and fall back into Gainel's realm. She felt as if she had been wrenched away from something pleasant. She knew she had dreamed about it again...the same dream that she had been having for weeks.

_Numair was holding her hand, brushing her hair back, and whispering to her. She thought she heard him tell her something fair important. It felt so real. He was telling her he loved her...that he would love her always. Even in the dream world where things felt real, she could tell it was an illusion. She felt feverish, and the edges of her vision were fuzzy...and Numair's hair was blue._

It was just a dream, an apparition of her desperate longing. Daine knew it was only a figment of her own subconsciousness, brought on by her hopeless unrequited feelings...but she couldn't help wishing it was real.

She was afraid that Numair had begun to recognize her infatuation, and that he was trying to discourage it. He had barely touched her in weeks, and then only the briefest of contacts. She tried to tell herself that it was just stress, but it was difficult to accept that when her own stress only caused her to ache to be close to the man.

She had taken to volunteering to set up their camp, just so she could set up their bedrolls close together. In his sleep he would sometimes reach out to her, and she was content just to listen to him breathe.

The air cracked again. Numair's sharp intake of breath drew her out of her reverie, and back to the dilemma at hand. She ached to simply go to the mage, and wake him from whatever misery haunted his sleep. He whimpered. The air splintered around him.

" _Daine.._." Her name came out harsh and pleading, and she watched as the still unconscious mage grasped at his wrist, as if making sure it was still attached to his body. The oxygen seemed to leach out of the air around them, and she felt like she was trying to breath under water.

"Odds bobs" she muttered. "This is fair ridiculous." If he was having a nightmare involving her, then she wasn't going to sit here and ignore it. She stood, dragging her bedding toward Numair's restless form. He quieted when she reached him, but it wasn't until she ran her fingers gently through his hair, that the blackness of his magic retreated into him. The oxygen slowly flowed back into the clearing's air, and his eyes flickered open as he took a deep breath.

He didn't say anything. He simply reached out and pulled her down to him, turning her into the curve of his body, and draping his arm across her hips. She shifted to reach for her bedding, but his arm tightened possessively. She stilled, sinking back into his warmth, and shivering at the feeling of his breath on the nape of her neck. His lips caressed the curls just behind her left ear, and then she felt him tuck his face into the curve of her neck.

Daine knew it wouldn't last. Like her dream, she would be wrenched out of this bliss the minute Numair regained his awareness. He would inevitably resume his recent stance of vigilantly avoiding any physical contact. For now, she allowed herself to enjoy the way his thumb methodically stroked her hip bone...the way his forearm tensed when she shifted, pulling her closer, and brushing the sliver of exposed skin on her abdomen...the way he sleepily nuzzled her neck.

His breathing deepened, evening out. She knew he had fallen back asleep, no longer plagued by nightmares. She enjoyed the sensation of being curled in his arms for as long as possible, before she too gave way to a dreamless sleep.


	9. Insomnia

Numair caught sight of her standing on the second rung of fence. Her feet were bare, and her breeches were rolled up to her knees despite the cool spring air. Her toes curled around the wood, holding her steady as she leaned the top half of her body over the fence gesturing dramatically. She was facing away from him, but he would recognize her anywhere. Her curls twisted behind her, as the breeze played through the smoky brown ringlets. 

He told himself that he should turn and walk back towards the palace. He knew he shouldn’t continue this path. He had been doing so well lately, keeping his distance...or at least during the day. He knew he had been failing at night. Fatigue seemed to dull his inhibitions significantly. He had woken up with her in his arms more mornings than not lately, at least when they were out on the road. 

They had been back at the palace for three days now, and he was more fatigued than he had been during their entire fortnight away. He couldn’t sleep without her. He didn’t even need her in his arms. He just wanted to be able to hear her breathe. He had spent the last three nights staring at her miniature portrait...he wanted to be able to fall asleep staring at the real thing. 

He sighed. They had only been off the road for three days, and here he was secretly hoping they would get sent out again. He truly was a wretched human being. He continued on his trajectory towards the field that housed the rider’s mounts. 

He knew she didn’t hear him come up behind her. He could tell she was too caught up in the conversation she was having with her herd. He was surprised to see a doe and a fawn grazing next to the ponies. He wondered if they were what held Daine's attention. She usually was much more aware of her surroundings. 

Numair frowned, stepping forward to scold her for letting her guard down. A branch snapped under his booted foot, and Numair saw her feet slip on the fence rung. He felt his heart rate jump and his throat tightening as her upper body tilted back. His long arm snaked around her legs, just above her knees, and pushed her back upright against the fence. She seemed to find her footing again, and he felt her hand press against the back of his neck. He pressed his forehead into her hip bone, afraid if he looked at her she would be able to read every emotion on his face. 

He tried desperately to slow his heart rate and breathing, exhaling the breath he didn’t realize had been stuck in his chest. He felt her fingers slide up the nape of his neck and tangle in his hair. He shivered at the gentle tug and consented to her silent urge for him to look up. With her standing on the fence he actually had to tilt his face up to look at her. 

A small smile played on her lips. She wasn’t used to seeing him from this angle, and he could tell she was rather enjoying the advantage. “I'm alright Numair.” She started to climb down off the fence, but he tightened his grip around her legs. He wasn’t ready to let go yet. She stilled. “I was just asking the herd if they wouldn't mind me camping out with them tonight.” She gestured towards the group of mountain ponies, who had now come to cluster at the fence. She turned her face away from him, her gaze becoming cloudy. “I...I haven’t been sleeping well,” she whispered. 

Numair squeezed her thigh, pressing her closer to him. “Me either Sweet.” He lifted his arm, his palm rubbing the small of her back. “I wish I could enjoy being back at the palace, but to be honest, it's hard to relax knowing it won’t last.” He sighed. “I don’t think I am used to being alone anymore...” He dropped his gaze to her bare feet again, afraid to meet her gaze. “I think I need all the noise of you and your friends to fall asleep now” he laughed trying to lighten the mood. 

Daine tilted his head up again, her smile reaching her eyes. He could tell he was blushing. Her palm found his cheek. “Would you like me to ask the herd if you can join us tonight?” He could tell she was pleased. He wondered if it was with the fact that he wanted her near, or if she was simply laughing at his foolishness? He nodded, unable to give up this chance to be near her. “I’m sure the entire court will think we are fair insane, sleeping with the ponies.” Numair frowned. He really shouldn’t encourage any more court gossip about her. Sleeping together in the rider’s field would certainly cause tongues to wag, but he couldn't bring himself to renege on his consent. He wanted to be near her too much, and he desperately needed sleep. 

Daine already had her bedroll stowed under the tree in the center of the meadow. She talked him out of returning to the palace for his own, pointing out that they had only been using one on the road. He hesitated, aware of what it would look like to passers by. Then her small hand found his, and any protest he might have been able to muster died in his throat. He was helpless to resist her. 

He let her pull him down onto the blanket and sighed when she curled her body into his own. He cradled her head in one arm, draping the other over her increasingly thin hips. He pulled her against him, making a mental note to make sure she was eating. She tended to forget to take care of herself when she was stressed. He tried to stay awake, to enjoy the warmth of her body pressed so willingly into his own. The last few nights of insomnia won out. He tucked his face into her neck, inhaled her scent, and let it drag him off to a dreamless sleep. 

* * *

It felt like mere seconds, though the depth of darkness surrounding them suggested it had been hours, when a timid hand shook him awake. He fought the urge to shoot a bolt of magic at the page who was disrupting the first good sleep he had gotten in three days. Daine stirred in his arms, and he pulled her nearer as he realized she was shivering. “Shh Sweet...go back to sleep,” he whispered. He turned to glare at the page, refusing to let go of his hold on the girl, even if it would only increase gossip. “What do you want boy?” He heard the irritation in his voice, and saw the boy begin to tremble. “Out with it,” he said more calmly. 

“I'm sorry sir...I've been sent to fetch you,” the boy took a step back. “Half the Page’s wing is looking for you sir. His majesty has been requesting your presence in the war room.” Numair groaned, and the boy took another half step back. 

“What does Jon want now?” Numair spat. He had been so comfortable. The boys’ eyes widened slightly at Numair’s use of the King’s first name. 

“His majesty said he needs you...Something about a village on the coast and immortals sir.” The boy glanced nervously at his boots. 

“Tell _his majesty_ I’ll be there in a moment.” Numair sighed, turning back away from the page and glancing at Daine. She had turned in her sleep to face him, her head curled into his chest. He heard the page clear his throat, and glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. 

“They are looking for her too sir.” Numair saw the page’s gaze travel the length of Daine’s body and settle on where his hand rested on the exposed skin at the small of her back where her tunic had ridden up. 

“If you know what's good for you page, you will say you found her here alone” Numair growled. The air in the meadow sparked, and he felt a small hand grip the V of his tunic. 

“Numair...” Daine said warningly. Her warm breath brushed his skin, and he closed his eyes. He tried to convince himself to let her go, to spare her the slander that might come from this, but he only pressed her closer. 

“You do know I turned someone into a tree...” he kept his voice low but held the page’s gaze to make his meaning clear. 

“I found her alone sir” the page gasped, before turning on his heel and running back towards the palace. 

“You know you only make it worse when you do that.” Daine’s sigh broke the silence. 

Numair tightened his hold on her once again, before sighing himself. “I was getting my first decent sleep in days” he muttered. “I can't bear this insomnia much longer.” He brushed her curls back from her face, tilting her chin so he could meet her gaze. “I am sorry though Magelet, I shouldn't have let this happen” he whispered. 

Daine frowned, before pushing away from his chest and standing, running her fingers through her sleep tousled hair. “Well it sounds like we are about to be sent out again, so I guess you won’t have to.” She hesitated before leaning down and offering him her hand. 

He took it, standing. “Shall we go see what our king demands then magelet?” He didn’t let go of her hand, even as he stooped to pick up his boots. He didn’t think he had the strength to abstain from physical touch right now, even though he knew he must. He would resume his intention to physically distance tomorrow...at least that’s what he told himself as they walked hand in hand back towards the palace gates. 


	10. Bewitched and Besotted

It hadn’t taken long for rumors to spread around the palace about where the great mage Numair Salmalin had spent the night. Despite the page’s insistence that he would say he found Daine alone, it seemed the whole court knew that she had been found in his arms, and in the horse meadow no less. It didn’t really bother Daine, she had been hearing it for years. The more conservative set had had her in Numair’s bed since she was thirteen. It _did_ however bother her that Numair hadn’t so much as gotten within two meters of her since. The man was ridiculous. He didn’t seem to understand that no matter what he did the entirety of the court would always think she was a bastard whore. They had been saying it for years...What she had heard that morning was hardly any different. 

* * *

_“Heard he was holding her, and didn’t even have the decency to let go when they were confronted!” The feminine voice was appalled. “She’s bewitched him for sure. I mean, I’ve known Salmalin since he first came to court...” the voice hesitated. “We were a bit of a thing for a time. Then he went north and came back with_ **_her_ ** _.” She spat the last word as if it was filthy. “They went off to the Barony of Pirate’s Swoop not long after that, it's said he has a tower there. When they returned to Corus it was as if they were attached at the hip. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight. I don’t think he has taken a lover since...at least not one besides her.”_

_“He’s besotted is what he is,” said another older voice._ _“She’s put a spell on quite a few I’ve heard.”_ _Daine_ _could hear the woman give an exaggerated shudder. “Strange magic that one has. It's said that even some of the knights have considered ignoring her commoner status.” The disapproval in the woman’s voice was evident. “Salmalin has put a stop to it every time though. Rumor has it he is a possessive one. He’s threatened any fool whose come under her spell. I heard that clerk Perin was going to ask the King’s permission to wed her before Salmalin scared him off.”_

_“Well the King ought to put a stop to it...” the first woman’s voice was quieter, as if she was walking further down the corridor. “It isn’t proper to allow a bastard whore to have so much influence over his head mage.”_

Daine was quite sure Numair had heard the women as well. She had hesitated before stepping out of the cupboard in which she was healing one of the palace rat catchers, assuring that the women’s footsteps had faded down the hall. She had leaned down to place the young feline on its feet. She had been whispering to him to watch out for human feet, lest he get stepped on again, when she had seen a set of feet she knew very well. She had stood to meet Numair’s dark gaze. He looked gutted. Daine had raised her chin defiantly. She wouldn’t let anyone pity her...not even Numair. 

It had taken her a minute to realize that Numair was the one to be pitied. She had never seen him look so devastated. She took a step towards him, wanting to assure him it was nothing she hadn’t heard before. She wanted him to understand that it didn’t bother her, but he took a step back. Her defiant mask fell as she let the hurt of his rejection sink in. It didn’t bother her...but obviously it did bother him. His hands had clenched into fists, and his magic seemed to shutter in the air around him. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then had turned to walk away.

He hadn’t said so much as a hello to her since. 

* * *

That had been four days ago. 

So here Daine sat, in the meadow, under the infamous tree, wishing the King would just send them out again. On the road Numair would be forced to talk to her. He wouldn’t be able to hide in his warded quarters. 

She heard a twig snap, and didn’t have to turn her head to know the object of her thoughts was walking towards her. The herd of ponies, who had been circling the tree in a protective stance, began pawing at the ground. Daine knew they were picking up on her frustration. She had half a mind to stand, shift, and leave Numair to deal with her angry friends. It would serve him right. 

“uu..hum.” Numair cleared his throat, and Daine turned to face him. He was standing trapped between the herd’s stallion and lead mare, who seemed to be refusing to let the mage come any closer. Daine raised her eyebrows at the man. 

“Are you speaking to me now?” She glared at him. 

“Onua sent me down,” he shuffled his feet, and the stallion dropped his head, pawing at the ground and swinging his head low in a herding motion. Numair cautiously took a step back, throwing a pleading glance at Daine. “Apparently Buri said the ponies are even more testy than normal.” He smiled nervously at her, but Daine only frowned. 

“Well you can go, and don’t come back until it is your own idea. No need for you to lower yourself speaking to me.” She dropped her gaze to her feet, her stubborn chin quivering with her effort to hold back angry tears. “I mean...you wouldn't want me to _influence_ you.” She bent forward and began unlacing her boots, planning to shift. 

“Daine...” Numair’s voice was quiet, but she could hear the undercurrent of anxiety in it. She paused, closing her eyes. “Please sweet. Don’t go when you know I can’t follow.” She heard him try to take a step forward, and heard the stallion huff warningly. “Magelet, I...I’m sorry. I should never have put you in that position. I should never have allowed them the opportunity to attack you.” He sounded as if he was crying, and Daine really looked at him for the first time. The circles under his eyes were even more prominent than four days ago. His face was drawn, and she could feel his anguish. She stood, silently calling off the stallion, and walked towards him. 

“Why do you let them get to you Numair?” She stepped close to him, invading his space, and saw him swallow hard. “You know they are just a bunch of gossips. Nothing they say holds any merit.” 

“But they are right Daine...” Numair’s voice cracked. “I am completely besotted by you...bewitched even. I don’t think I could survive without you.” He reached up as if to touch her face, but then seemed to rethink the action, letting his hand fall. “It isn’t fair though, to keep you all to myself. I haven’t been thinking about what is best for you.” He gulped. “If you wanted to m... marry Perin...” he choked. She grasped his hand and tugged, forcing him to meet her gaze. 

She rolled her eyes, “don't be a dolt Numair. I have no desire to marry Perin.” His hand tightened on hers. “No one is going to marry me anyways Numair, so you're stuck with me.” The mage opened his mouth to protest, but she leaned forward placing her free hand over his mouth. “I will always be the bastard whore to them Numair,” his face tightened, and she saw the tears threatening to spill. 

“I don’t mean to hurt you.” He scuffed his boot. Pawing at the ground like the stallion. If she hadn’t been standing so close, she didn’t think she would have been able to hear his lamented whisper. 

He tried to pull away, but she held on tighter. “The only way you are going to really hurt me, is to let what they say change your opinion of me.” She tried hard, but she was unable to hold his gaze, and she dropped her eyes to her unlaced boots. She desperately hoped he didn’t see the tear that fell, discoloring the worn leather. She bit her lip in a futile attempt, but the second tear fell, and her vision became blurry. She let go of his hand, taking a step back, wishing she had just shifted. She couldn’t deal with more rejection right now. 

“Oh sweet,” she felt his arm wrap around her, pulling her body into his chest. “Daine, look at me.” She buried her face in the V of his tunic, shaking her head. She felt him inhale sharply, and then his fingers were threading into her hair, and he was forcing her to meet his gaze. “I will never think anything but the very best of you Magelet.” He leaned down, kissing her forehead. Daine felt the familiar ache in her chest. She didn’t know what was worse, him ignoring her, or the yearning she felt being this close. 

“You promise?” She hated herself for begging. He let her bury her face back in his chest, leaving his fingers tangled in her hair. 

_“Always.”_


	11. Better

Numair was grateful to the man, so grateful. He wouldn’t have been able to keep her safe without him...but now he wished that the big knight had moved on. He had come so close to losing her today. He wanted to fall asleep with her safely in his arms. He didn’t think he was going to get any sleep otherwise. With the man sharing their camp though, Daine had set up her own bedroll on the far side of the fire, and had fallen into an exhausted, but fitful, sleep. He longed to go to her, to brush her hair back and hold her hand, to chase away the nightmares she would be fighting after today. His hand twitched. 

“Have you told her?” Raul’s voice broke through the silence. Numair turned to him, startled. 

“Told her what?” his forehead scrunched in question, but his gaze returned to the sleeping girl. His whisper was barely audible over the cracking fire at the center of the clearing. 

Raul shot him a perturbed look, but then sighed. “That you love her you idiot.” 

Numair thought about protesting, but he knew the man wouldn't believe him. Raul was big and brawny...but he wasn’t stupid. “Who all knows?” he asked instead. 

Raul gave a wry smile. “I think Daine may be the only one who doesn’t know Numair. It's been obvious since Carthak. Before that really.” The knight prodded the flames with the tip of his sword, sending sparks into the night air. “You aren’t doing yourself any favors by pretending it's not there...” His voice turned serious. “Come to think of it, you aren’t doing her any favors either.” 

“What do you mean?” Numair wished the knight would lower his voice. What if Daine awoke? He didn’t want her to hear this. He turned back to watch her. She mumbled something that sounded like his name. He fought the urge to go to her. 

“I saw you today Numair” Raul leaned forward, making a point to meet the mage’s gaze. “When those spidrens attacked her your magic just flew out of you. You blew three of them to pieces without a sound, without a gesture...without a thought.” The knight's eyes narrowed. “You didn’t have control of your magic today did you? That was just an emotional reaction?” He shook his head. “You can’t protect her if you are reacting on just emotion. That’s why mages go to university, to learn control of their magic so they don’t accidently blow up half the kingdom.” Numair glared at the man, wishing he had a rebuttal, but knowing he was speaking the truth. “You drained yourself in a desperate attempt to get to her. What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up?” Raul shot him a questioning look. 

“I don’t know.” Numair whispered, unable to hold the man’s gaze. “I am eternally grateful Raul...you know that. I can never repay you for what you did today.” Numair swallowed back the tightening in his throat. He didn’t want to be reminded of how close he had been to losing her, of how he would have failed her. He turned away again. He would not cry in front of this warrior. He felt his magic, what tiny supply he had left, dancing under his skin. He took a meditative breath. He couldn’t lose control. Not now. 

Raul stood. “I have half a mind to tell Jon that you two need to be separated...” Numair shot the man a panicked look. “...but I won’t.” Raul placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. “You need to tell her Numair. She needs to know how she affects you. For her sake. For your sake...” he paused. “For Tortall’s sake.” Raul moved away towards his bedroll, sheathing his sword. Numair stayed motionless by the fire. 

“Please...mair.” Diane's voice cracked and she thrashed for a minute in her bedroll, causing two foxes and a rabbit to dart from her twisted blankets and into the underbrush. Numair stood, taking a step towards her, before remembering they weren’t alone. He glanced over his shoulder at the burly knight. 

Raul smiled at the mage. “I am not going to tell Jon... or anyone else.” He jerked his head towards where Daine lay, still thrashing in her sleep. “Go to sleep Numair.” With that he turned his back to the fire, away from them. 

Numair made his way to Daine, untwisting the blankets and sliding in beside her. He pulled her into his arms. She whimpered. “I'm here sweet.” He kissed her curls. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” he inhaled. “I promise...I’ll do better.” Her body stilled, and he felt her ragged breathing even out. He closed his eyes, trying to believe himself. He would do better. Raul was right. He couldn't risk losing her again. He would do better. 


	12. The Cat

Daine loosed her last arrow, panicking as the hurrok dove towards Numair. The shaft buried itself in the immortal's skull. The creature screamed and its wraithlike eyes widened before becoming blank as it plummeted off the cliff face. She choked back a sob as Numair tried to stand, knowing he wouldn’t be able to. She stumbled towards him, her feet refusing to work as she subconsciously shifted them into several different animals at once, trying desperately to get to him as quickly as possible. She tried to take a deep breath, willing her body back under her control. 

“Magelet....sweet?” Numair was reaching for her, blood trickling down his forehead, his eyes widening like the hurrok's. The sob she had been holding back broke loose, and her vision blurred. By the time she reached him he had lost consciousness. Her tears mingled with the blood trickling down his scalp as she hulled his head into her lap. The wrongness of immortals faded from her magical mind as the last stormwing she had shot sputtered and took its last breath. Her fingers slid over Numair’s throat, and she sighed with relief when she felt the steady bound of his pulse. She leaned her forehead down to meet his, and willed herself to breathe. He was alive, and that was what mattered. 

It was hours later, and he still hadn’t awoken. She had dragged him to a cave off the cliff side, set up camp, and tended to his wounds. She had spent endless minutes sitting by his side watching him breathe. She stared, counting each rise and fall of his chest, as noon turned to twighlight, then to dusk. Eventually the sky shifted to stars. She wished he would wake up and look at them. He would love the stars tonight. She traced the Cat constellation with her index finger, remembering the night Numair had first showed it to her. 

* * *

The wind on the top of the tower set her to shivering, and she was annoyed that Numair seemed utterly unaware that it was freezing. He was prattling on about meteor showers and legends of gods sending love letters to mortals through falling stars. Her teeth began to chatter before he turned to look at her. He didn't even pause in his rambling. He simply reached out and pulled her in front of him, wrapping his cloak around them both, and continuing to point out the different constellations. She didn't hear most of what he was saying, simply relishing being snuggled in his arms, but then he started telling her about _The Cat_. Anything involving animals always caught Daine’s attention. She became engrossed in the tale, and its connection to Alanna. Numair seemed to notice that Daine was much more absorbed with this anecdote than his normal lessons on stargazing. He stopped talking. Daine tore her eyes away from the foot of the great mother goddess’ constellation, where the cat resided, and turned in his arms to meet his gaze. He smiled down at her, brushing the curls back from her face. 

“You know, they say the Cat is a god too...that he leaves the stars sometimes in order to help or to hinder two-leggers." His hand paused, palm cupping her cheek. “Perhaps that is why he is still in the sky at this time...” He gazed back up at the heavens, though his hand continued to cup her face, thumb absentmindedly stroking her cheek. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so content. She no longer felt the cold winter air. She was warm in his arms...and she couldn’t help but feel like she never wanted to leave. Numair pulled her closer to his chest, his lips brushing the back of her curls as he spoke. “Perhaps he knows that the world is safe with you here to be a conduit between two-leggers and the people magelet.” 

* * *

The Cat was Daine’s favorite constellation. Whenever she felt like she couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t fight any longer...couldn’t be a two legger another second, she would look up and trace the stars, remembering what Numair had said. Mostly though, she remembered what it felt like to be held in his arms. Safe. Warm. Loved. Home. Being part of the pack...belonging. 

Her finger traced the last star of the Cat’s tail. She started over, her finger moving to his ears. Before she got to the point, a hand grasped her fingers. She turned hastily to meet Numair’s gaze. His eyes were clouded over with pain...or worry. She couldn’t tell. “Numair, you had me fair frightened.” She wished her voice wasn't shaking. She had spent hours telling herself to stay calm, but she was just so happy to see him awake. His palm cupped her chin. She opened her mouth to ask him where he hurt, and what she should do, but he placed his thumb over her lips. 

“Shh sweet, I am okay.” He caressed her bottom lip with his thumb, pulling on it slightly. He turned his gaze towards the sky. “I see the Cat still trusts you enough to stay at the foot of the goddess.” He pulled her down to him, clutching her tight against his chest. This time it was his voice that shook. “You did good magelet...you did so good.” 


	13. More than Enough

Numair tried to control his breathing. He could feel his fingernail's break the skin on his palms, and tried to loosen his fists. He couldn't. He knew he shouldn't be here, sitting on the floor beside the wash basin she was currently half submerged in, but he didn't get up to leave. He couldn't. He wanted to say something, but...he couldn't.

Her dark curls tumbled over the back of the wood basin, as her head lulled back, eyes closed. He wished she would open them. He needed to see them, to reassure himself that there was still life in them.

He had come close to losing her many times since the start of this war. It wasn't that those times had been less devastating to him, but the adrenaline of battle had seemed to act as an emotional buffer. Today had been different. She had fallen out of the sky. He closed his own eyes and then rapidly opened them, as the image of her losing her shape replayed on the back of his eyelids. He felt the tears escape, and thanked Mithros that he was a silent crier, and that her eyes were closed.

He felt her thumb graze the back of his neck, bath water rolling down his spine. "Numair?" her voice was gentle, even with its undercurrent of panic. He kept his eyes closed, his mouth still refusing to speak. "Numair? Please..." There was a tremble in her voice that broke his resolve. His own words came out harsh.

"Did you want to die?" He heard her inhale, but didn't let her speak. "I can't think of why else you would do that?" her hand dropped from the back of his neck, and he turned to face her for the first time. Her blue-grey eyes flashed with hurt, but were soon masked with her unique form of stubborn anger. It spurred him on, overpowering his initial fluster at the awareness of her naked form. "You don't ever learn Daine..." he purposely avoided using any term of endearment, wanting her to understand his anger. "Its like the dolphins all over again. You can't seem to understand that what you do with your magic has consequences." His voice cracked, and the damp of tears appeared on his cheek.

Her blue-grey eyes softened as they trailed the tear tracts, and she reached her hand up out of the bath water to wipe them away. He flinched away from her touch, not trusting his self control "Numair, I didn't die." She said it in that matter of fact tone she used when she was exasperated, ever the realist .

"You broke your wrist!" The candles in the room flickered, almost extinguishing, at the reverberation of magic in his voice.

"And Duke Baird promptly healed it." She rolled her eyes as if he was being utterly ridiculous in his concern.

"Do you want to leave me?" his words came out soft, exhaustion overwhelming the anger, as his tears continued to fall. " Magelet , if...if anything happened to you, I..." he paused, unable to put voice to his deepest fears. He rested his forehead against the side of the tub. He felt her hands thread into his hair, bathwater from her fingers moistening his scalp.

"I'm not going to leave you Numair." Her lips brushed his hair as she leaned down beside him. He closed his eyes again, determined not to give in and forgive her. Yet, he felt his anger fading away as she murmured to him soothingly. He reached up, grasping her right hand and squeezing hard. He heard the sharp intake of breath, and knew that her wrist was hurting her. He loosened his grip, turning his face and kissing the underside of her wrist. Her pulse raced under his lips.

"I can't heal Sweet." His voice felt heavy and he dropped her hand in shame. "If we weren't in Corus..."

"I trust you Numair." The hand still tangled in his hair tugged, making him glance up at her. Her eyes flashed steel grey. Hers was the voice filled with anger now. "I don't need you to heal me, and you aren't responsible for what happens if I get myself killed." He opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head. "You're my best friend Numair, my pack. I won't ever leave you willingly. You should know that."

He raised his head, averting his eyes from where her breast threatened to break through the surface of the water. "I shouldn't be here." The words came out stunted, there was no conviction in them. He bent his head back down against the basin, folding her hand into his own. He could feel her shrug.

"But you are here Numair, and that's more than I deserve..." she squeezed his hand, her lips brushing against his hair again. "It's more than enough."


	14. Drowning

Daine could feel the splinter lodge itself in the pad of her thumb as she let the bolt slide. Her bow string vibrated, and the sound reverberated in her ears before being overtaken by the sound of the  hurrock’s screech as it fell from the sky. She shoved her thumb in her mouth, sucking away the blood, and spitting it out on the spring frosted ground. She swerved to take aim at the  spidren climbing the cliff ledge behind her. Her face burned as the bow string loosed, sliding across her skin. The  spidren fell, its many legs tangling as it toppled down the cliff face. She could hear Numair screaming her name, but then everything was muffled as a body fell on top of her. She reached for her dagger. She tried desperately to pull it from  its resting  place in the small of her back before she was crushed under the weight of the mass of immortal. 

She fell backwards, body meeting cold earth. Her hand spasmed as her fingers grasped the hilt. The edges of her vision turned black as the weight against her chest made it hard to breath. She lost her grip. And then it was over. The weight was lifted, and Numair’s face swam into her vision. His magic shimmered in the air around them, causing the edges of her vision to turn hazy. She sat up, then staggered to her feet, Numair desperately trying to steady her. 

“Are you hurt?” Numair’s hands grasped her shoulders, then threaded through her hair, finally resting his palms against her face. “ Daine , sweet...” He shook her slightly. 

“I'm fine Numair...” she felt his hand grasp her wrist. His eyes searching her hand. 

“You were bleeding .... before it even fell on you,  you were bleeding!” His voice was panicked. She rolled her eyes. 

“It's just a. splinter Numair." He pulled her into his arms, tight against his chest.

“I thought...” he choked back a sob. 

“You  _ think _ too much,”  Daine said, not loosening her grip on his waist, and instead sliding her thumbs into the belt loops of his breeches. 

“Daine...” Numair’s voice was full of warning, even as his own hands gripped the back of her tunic, dragging her closer. She could feel each puff of his warm breath across her scalp. She slid her hand up, taking a fistful of his tunic. 

“You do think too much ‘Miar...” she murmured, rubbing her cheek into the V of his tunic. “Sometimes I think I am drowning in your thoughts.” Her voice was barely audible, muffled against the fabric. She felt his fingers, tangled in the back of her over-shirt, tighten. His lips brushed the top of her head.

“Sometimes I think I’ll drown in my thoughts of you  magelet .”


	15. Anything

Numair watched as the sky lit, the crack of lightening setting his magic to crackling under his skin. He hated this feeling. He hated being this close to losing his control. Thunder sounded in the distance, obscuring his hearing. He strained, listening for any sound. She was out there somewhere. She had flown north of the Swoop yesterday in search of the location of a rogue minotaur. She hadn’t come back. 

A villager farther up the coast had come to the Swoop three days ago begging George to help. His daughter had been brutalized by the immortal. She was the fourth maiden to be attacked in half as many weeks. George had sent for them. They had been on their way to the tower. Still, it had taken them a day to make the journey. He hadn’t wanted to come. They had almost been _home_. Jon had promised them they would have a three-day reprieve. Daine had needed that. Numair wasn’t sure she had gotten an uninterrupted night’s sleep in more than a fortnight. She didn’t need this. 

Another bolt of lightning shot across the sky, and he frantically searched it for her shape-shifted form before it went dark once more. They had argued. He had tried to convince her to ride on to the tower. He would meet her there. He didn’t want her anywhere near this. It wasn’t that he didn’t think she was capable, but...he didn’t think he was strong enough to handle the thought of her anywhere near a minotaur. He wished now that he had just told her that. Instead, he had all but assured that she would chase after the beast. 

He closed his eyes, trying not to remember her face when he had told her that sometimes there were tasks “better suited to the male sex.” He clenched his fist. He couldn’t believe he had said that. He hadn’t meant it. He didn’t even believe it. However, the thought of Daine anywhere near a minotaur had left him physically ill and irrational. He could feel himself hit her anger, like it was a palpable wall. Her blue-gray eyes flashed, her mind becoming impervious to change. He knew he had lost any potential opportunity to reason with her. There would be no changing her resolve now...and he felt ashamed of himself for even trying. 

She had left to scout in gall form as soon as they had arrived to the Swoop. He had followed her up to the battlements, hoping she would break the silence. He had told her long ago that friends should promise to never be parted in anger...they seemed to break that pact far too often. She had turned, and he almost broke at the glassy shimmer of her gaze. She was holding back tears. He took a step forward. Her wing brushed his cheek as she took flight. He felt his control waiver as he bent and picked up her empty cloak. Her scent lingered, and he fought the urge to bury his face in the material and cry. 

He hadn’t moved off the battlement since. George had tried to convince him to come into the keep. _“Lad ye know the lass can take care of herself. Minotaur go after maidens, not galls.”_ George’s words brought him little comfort. She wasn’t a gall. She was a girl. But she wasn’t just a girl. She was Daine . _His_ _Daine_ _._

He felt the first drop of rain strike his face. He let the tears he had been holding back begin to fall. No one would be able to tell now. The wind whirled off the coast, whipping his hair into his face. He didn’t make to brush it away. A third bolt broke across the coast line, and he sent a wave of his magic out to bolster it for a few seconds longer. He thought he saw something, a flash of black against the blinding light. It quickly became obscured by darkness once more. He sent out another bolt of his magic to light the sky. The entire horizon became illuminated, and he heard shrieks from the courtyard below, as darkness became daylight. He relished in using the pent-up energy of his gift. 

_There!_ The unmistakable beat of birds wings against dusky sky. No natural animal would fly in this squall. He didn’t know whether to be angry she had risked it, or relieved that he wouldn’t have to spend another night standing on the battlement, worried about where she was. He resisted the desire to light up the sky again, knowing it would likely blind her in her flight. Instead, he lit the torches on the battlement, and sent out his magic to protect them from the gail. 

The rain fell in earnest now. He tucked the fabric of her cloak tight against his chest, wanting it to be dry when she arrived. She had looked close. Why was she not here yet? Thunder rolled in the distance, the tempest moving further away now, and the sound only served to further his panic. What if she had lost her bearings in the storm? 

He lifted his hand to send out his magic, when another strike of lightning cracked across the sky. He saw her then. A large golden eagle perched on the stone wall of the rampart. “Oh sweet!” He stepped forward, covering the bird with Daine’s cloak. A breath later she was human. He pulled her into his embrace, tears mingling with rain drops as they rolled off of his face, and into her wild curls. 

She shivered in his embrace, and he tried not to think about the feel of her body pressed so closely to his with nothing but a thin layer of fabric separating them. “I am so sorry magelet! I didn’t mean it...” His voice sounded strangled, but he pushed on. “You can do anything. I know you are more than capable of doing anything you put your mind to.” He pulled her closer, pressing his palm to the back of her neck and squeezing lightly. He needed her to understand. “I was just scared Daine. I...” He trailed off, meeting her eyes. 

Her small hand, cold and wet, found the back of his neck. She clutched it, forcing him to tilt his head slightly. The gesture felt weak, and he felt her legs trembling in his embrace. She was exhausted. He brushed his thumb across the jut of her cheekbone, and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I know you can do _anything_ Daine” he repeated, holding her glazed gaze. “I just want you to know that you never have to do it alone.” He bent, sliding his arm beneath her knees, drawing her up into his grasp, and cradling her close. 

He turned, startled to see George standing at the entrance of the bastion, a roguish grin playing on his crooked features. He pressed Daine closer, pulling her hood up over her face, and followed the older man into the keep. 


	16. Nothing to Live For

Daine wasn’t surprised when the first thing she saw upon opening her eyes was a male face. She was however surprised, and then relatively panicked, when she realized it wasn’t Numair. She sat up, startling four mice and a cat who were curled up on her chest and lap. 

George grinned, placing his hands, gentle and commanding, on her shoulders and pushing her back onto the cot. “Calm down lass, he’s fine.” He laughed, and Daine wondered how he had known what she wanted without her saying a word. The man was far too perceptive. She glanced towards the door, and opened her mouth to ask.

“Don’t ye worry, he’s not out chasing the minotaur,” he shook his head, his grin only getting wider. “Raul wasn’t far from the spot you marked on the map. He and the Own are taking care of it.” His hazel eyes followed her gaze towards the door. He shook his head, and reached out to squeeze her hand “He’s sleeping lass. Though I had to threaten him, assure him I would be here, and promise to fetch him immediately upon your awakening, in order to get him to leave.” Even with his heavy lower city accent, she could hear the amusement in his voice. “Ye know he didn’t sleep the entire time you were away? Didn’t eat either. He just stood up there on the North watch tower.” 

George’s smile faded, and Daine dropped her eyes to her lap fiddling with the badger claw at her neck. He watched her fidget with it for a minute. Glancing up, she saw slight surprise flit across his features when he noticed the glint of the pregnancy charm hanging beside the claw. She jutted her chin out defiantly, and his expression evened out so quickly that she thought she may have imagined it. 

“Did you know?” His smile, impish and endearing, returned. 

“Know what?” Daine asked, startled. 

“Did you know the effect you have on him lass?” George put his hand under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. She shifted and glanced back towards the door. 

“He’s just an overprotective dolt...you know that George.” She clasped her hands in her lap in order to prevent herself from drawing attention back to her charm by fretting with the claw. “He doesn’t think I can do anything on my own without getting myself killed.” She rolled her eyes, but George simply barked a laugh. 

“Is that it lassy?” he let go of her chin. “You know, I’ve known Arram since Alanna found him starving and despondent at the edges of the realm.” His tone became serious again. “He didn’t feel that he had anything to live for back then.” This time it was George who dropped his eyes to his lap, but he quickly settled his piercing hazel gaze back on her own. “There is nothing more terrifying than a mage who has given up on life...” He tapped his thumb against her knee under the wool blanket. “Where would all that power go?” she barely heard his whisper. She wondered if he was still speaking of Numair, or of Arram...or of another mage entirely. 

“George...” Her question died on her lips as he shook his head. She had never seen the baron look so serious. 

“He wouldn’t survive losing you Veralidaine.” his tone was matter of fact, and she wondered if this was the George who had been the King of the Corus Rogue. “I have half a mind to tell Jon that the two of you ought to be separated.” He held his hand up at her terrified look. “Don't fret Daine...I won’t. I just needed to be certain you knew.”

He stood, taking a step towards the door. “I have witnessed the kind of man Numair becomes when he has nothing to live for." He placed his hand on the door. “If _anything_ were to happen to you lass... he would have nothing to live for.” 

He was gone before she could blink, and Daine was left alone. She gripped the badger claw, and wished desperately that her guardian would appear and tell her how she was supposed to survive this war.

More importantly, she wished he would tell her how to assure Numair would survive. 


	17. Beltane

She saw him, sitting on the edge of a grassy knoll outside the barracks, and sighed with relief. She had been looking for him for the last two candle marks, afraid of what it would mean if she could not find him. She was ashamed to realize she was delighted he was spending tonight alone. She tried to quell her smile, making her way towards him, her bare feet relishing the feeling of the damp spring grass. 

She laid a hand on his shoulder, grinning when he jumped slightly. “The stars aren't even out yet Master Salmalin," she said teasingly. "I am surprised to see you sitting in the dirt already.” She sat, not caring that she was wearing her nicest breaches, but trying to spare her blue tunic. She knew it was his favorite on her. He had told her so more than once. 

“I wasn’t looking at the stars.” He sounded irritated. “I was watching for... something else.” She was bewildered to see that his smile didn’t reach his eyes, and that he looked annoyed, even angry. “Where have you been magelet?” He didn’t look at her, and she saw him swallow. She wondered if she was imagining the note of accusation in his voice. 

“I've been looking for you actually.” She grimaced, tilting her head into his line of vision, and watching as he twisted his right hand around and around his left wrist. He had been doing that a lot lately. It was becoming somewhat of a tic. She reached over and stilled his hand. “I just didn’t think to look out here. They won't be lighting the fires for a fair bit yet.” 

“I'm sorry” he said. “I figured you would be...” he paused, and she was puzzled to feel his hand trembling beneath her own. “Preoccupied,” he finished. She pulled her hand back and rolled her eyes. He glanced up at her. “I just mean...well it is Beltane after all magelet.” He bit his bottom lip and stared down the hill, where pages were stacking more wood onto the pyres. 

“Yes Numair, I am well aware of the holiday. I'm just not sure why it would suddenly mean you think I've lost all sense.” She leaned forward, pushing her palms into the damp earth, intending to shove herself up and stand. She no longer felt the urge to spend this evening with him. His hand on the small of her back stilled her. She placed her hands in her lap, but didn’t look at him. “I’m not my mother...” she whispered. 

“Oh sweet, that’s not what I meant.” The anxiety in his voice made her chest tighten. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just in a mood. It isn’t your fault.” He shifted closer, so that his body pressed against hers, and placed his chin on her shoulder. “I was worried...I don’t like not knowing where you are, not with everything that’s going on.” She felt him inhale. “I haven’t seen you since we got back to Corus last week, and I missed you.” Daine shifted out from under his chin, and felt his hand grasp the back of her tunic. “Don’t go sweetling.” his voice was soft, but she saw his pulse beating hard in his neck. She exhaled, settling back into his side. 

They sat there in silence for a long while. Dusk set in and the sound of music drifted from the rider’s mess hall and the walls of the palace. She smiled at the contrast in the dignified court song, and the jaunty jig of the rider’s melody. Pages were shoving bits of bound and dried hay into the crevices of the pyres now. The fires would light soon. 

“My mother used to say that maybe the gods should send someone to be in charge of childbirth if they were going to insist on a holiday focused on love and fertility.” Daine leaned her chin on her knees, hugging her legs. “She said she didn’t understand how the gods couldn’t see the need.” She heard Numair laugh softly, and felt his hand trail up her spine. She tried not to shiver at his touch. 

“When I was little, I used to think I would meet my true love on Beltane...like my mother.” She felt him tense, and stole a glance at his face. She was startled to see a look of pain cross his swarthy features. She realized what he must be thinking. “Of course,” she stuttered. “That is before I knew I was a bastard...I’m not so silly now.” Numair’s hand clenched between her shoulder blades.

“Daine...” She heard the warning in his voice. His hand spasmed. She had to consciously still herself as she felt the small spark of magic sting her back, sending a small shock up and down her spine. She smiled at him reassuringly, laying a hand on his knee, and hoping to calm whatever had agitated him. His magic seemed to be so tenuous lately. He appeared to recognize it, and withdrew his hand with an apologetic look. Daine tried not to let the disappointment she felt at the loss of contact show on her face. “Sorry,” he murmured. 

“You shouldn’t say that about yourself Daine.” His voice had taken on that serious tone he got whenever the pages interrupted one of his workings. His jaw clenched, and she could see the small vein on his forehead popping out. 

“Numair, I’m not being self-deprecating, its simply the truth. No one is going to want to jump over the fire with me” she said, exasperated by his unwavering sense of offense at her bastard status. The first puff of smoke rose over the Beltane fires. It would take them a while to burn down enough for couples to scale them. She lifted her hand to run her fingers through her hair, but Numair reached out and stilled it. He squeezed her fingers hard. 

“I mean it Daine,” his voice came out in a low growl. “I don’t want you saying those things about yourself, and I certainly don’t want you to believe them.” He shook his head when she opened her mouth to speak. “No. Don’t you understand? You’re so incredibly special, and if other people can’t see that, then they are inconsequential.” He scowled. She stared at her lap, wondering why he was so angry tonight. He dropped her hand and cupped her chin, tilting it up to force her to meet his eyes. “You're beautiful. You have a beautiful mind...and they are all idiots.” He spat the last word out through gritted teeth. 

“It makes you far more upset than me Numair,” she whispered. 

“Thats because you still don’t see how wrong they are” Numair muttered. “You don't understand how exceptional you are Daine,” he slid his hand down and squeezed the back of her neck. “and that’s what upsets me. I'm not angry with you. I'm angry at the way life has treated you. I’m angry that it has conditioned you to think that you aren’t worth as much as other people. I’m angry it's made you feel like you have to settle.” His tone was bitter, but the look in his eyes held something Daine couldn't quite place. She leaned her head against his shoulder, hiding her face from the intensity of his gaze. “Besides,” he said, kissing her hair softly and murmuring. “I need you to jump over the fires with me tonight.” 

She knew he meant it only in friendship. After all, Onua leaped them with Sarge, and Buri had been known to clear them with Raul. Neither of them had any intention of marrying as far as Daine knew. Yet, she couldn’t help the small flicker of hope she felt at his words. She pressed closer into Numair’s side. 

At least, if he was jumping them with her tonight, he wouldn't be spending the night with anyone else. 


	18. Love Her Like That

A soft beam of light awoke him, and it took him a moment to recognize that he was home in his palace chambers, comfortable in his own bed. He blinked, sending his magic out to close the shutter, and casting the room into shadow once more. He closed his eyes again, shifting, before becoming aware of the weight enfolded in his arms. His eyelids flickered back open, and he glanced down to see her nestled in his embrace. He tensed his grasp and felt her shift closer into his warmth. 

This had to be a dream. 

He dropped his face into the curve of her neck and inhaled, adoring her scent. Her smokey brown curls brushed his face, and he relished the feeling of her weight in his arms. He had missed this. They had been in the city four nights, but he had promised himself he wouldn’t let this transpire when they were in Corus. There were too many wagging tongues in the court. 

Numair closed his eyes and wondered how he had allowed this. 

He shouldn’t have let it happen...he knew that. He should have protested. He should have been adamant in his refusal when she had asked him to stay and see the sunrise with her.

If he was honest with himself, he had protested, albeit weakly. 

_“I really don’t think that’s a good idea_ _magelet_ _,” he laughed, hoping she couldn’t hear the catch in his voice. “Besides, I won’t fit in your tiny bed.” He absently pushed a curl back behind her ear. Another fell forward._

_“Then let's go sleep in yours.” Her voice was soft, sleepy, and completely unguarded. Her face was_ _alight_ _from the Beltane fires. He didn’t know if the warmth he felt was from the flame, the small amount of ale he had consumed, or from her body pressed close to his. He was defenseless to refuse her. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t think of anything he_ _desired_ _more than to take her up to his quarters._ _So,_ _he did._

Nothing had happened. They had crawled into his bed and slept. He wasn’t so foolish to believe that this meant anything more than friendship to her. He knew that she saw it the same as sharing a bedroll on the road. Practical. Comforting. Warm. She had explained to him in Dunlath that packs slept together, and she had told him many times that he was her pack. He knew that was all this was to her. 

But to him...this was so very different from sleeping together on the road. Here in his quarters, in his bed, they were truly alone. There were no animals huddled at their feet. There was no Kitten cuddled between them. There was no chance of immortals attacking, pages interrupting, or strangers happening across their campsite. He pulled her tighter against him, her back pressed against his length. He felt her every breath as if it was his own, but still he wanted her closer. She shivered slightly, and he tucked the wool blanket around them, toying with the idea of sending his magic out to relight the hearth. He wanted to stay here, like this, forever. 

_“She loves you...”_ Onua’s words danced through his mind, and he wished he could believe what the woman had told him just yesterday. 

* * *

He paced back and forth outside her door. He had knocked twice, and she hadn’t answered. If she was in there she would answer. At least, he thought she would. He hadn’t seen her since they got back to Corus three days ago. He had kept his distance, hoping she would seek him out, but she hadn’t. It had been difficult, and his nerves were frayed, but he hadn’t wanted to seem needy. She deserved some time without him. There had been too many comments of late...comments about how inseparable they were. 

He had lasted the three days, but he couldn’t take it any longer. He needed to lay eyes on her. He needed to see her smile. He needed to hear her voice. He needed _her._

Now, it was Beltane. He didn’t want to think about where she was today. Yet, he couldn’t seem to think of anything else. His imagination was running rampant. It was putting him in a foul mood. He rapped on the door again. 

A dog whined, and he looked down to see Tahoi sitting at his feet, tail kicking up puffs of dust as it fanned behind him. He glanced up to see Onua leaning against a stall, pitchfork in hand, smiling at him. He frowned, “Have you seen Daine? I’ve been looking for her for hours.” The words came out clipped and irritated. 

“Don’t you have some sort of way to track her? I figured by now the two of you would have some kind of system. You’re attached at the hip most of the time.” She pushed her shoulder off the wall, and walked towards him, bending to scratch Tahoi behind the ear. The dog stopped whining. 

Numair blanched, grasping at his wrist, despite knowing that the bracelet and locket were invisible. 

“Going to ask her to be your May queen?” The laughter in her voice made him ache. He knew it was ridiculous. Here he was, a grown mage, pining for her like some adolescent apprentice. 

“It isn’t like that Onua.” He tried to keep the longing note out of his voice, but knew he had failed. She straightened, looking up at him, and he hated the pity he saw in her eyes. 

“I know Numair...but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t like it to be.” Her voice was soft, sympathetic, and made him feel worse. 

“She sees me as a friend.” he inhaled, sliding his back down against the stall wall facing Daine’s door until he was sitting directly across from it. “I’m her teacher, nothing more...” he looked down in shame. “She’s so young. She...” 

Onua held her hand out to stop his objection, and then took a seat beside him. She sighed. “You make her feel safe Numair. I don’t think anything or anyone else has accomplished that since Galla.” She rubbed her palms across the lap of her breeches, leaving streaks of dust and dirt. “She’s given you her heart Numair, even if she doesn’t recognize it yet...don’t break it.” 

“Onua. I....I don’t want to hurt her” He didn’t know if it was caution he heard in his own voice, or yearning. “Sometimes I think I shouldn’t be allowed to be around her.” 

“Numair.” A small smile played at the edges of the woman’s mouth. “She’s the best thing you will ever have. So, if you are the one she chooses to let in... then don’t shut her out.” She looked towards the closed door. “She has always had trouble letting people in. Even now she won’t tell me things.” She shook her head, expecting his protest. “It's okay, after all she has been through, I don’t expect her to fully trust anyone.” A sad look flitted across her face. “But she does trust you Numair. When you walk into a room her entire being comes alive.” She placed her small strong hand on his shoulder. “You love her. I can hear it in the way you speak to her. I can see it in the way you look at her....in the way you touch her. You love her when her entire life has tried to convince her that no one possibly could.” A tear slid down the woman’s suntanned cheek. Numair pretended not to notice. “Thats why she loves you, because you love her like that.” 

“Where is she Onua?” he heard the desperation in his voice. 

The K’mir stood, patting the mage’s shoulder. Her eyes shifted away from his, and she exhaled. “That clerk Perin was asking after her a few hours ago, when we were foaling that grey mare of Raoul’s.” She paused, “I haven’t seen her since.” 

He scowled and the knot in his stomach cramped. He felt like crying. Instead, he stood and walked away, aimlessly wandering into the Beltane evening. 

She had found him there, sitting on the hill outside the stables. 

* * *

He threaded her fingers into his, and brushed his lips across her temple. Her breathing hitched, but then evened out. She remained asleep.

Last night he couldn’t think of anything he had wanted more then to spend the night with her in his rooms. Now he knew there was one thing he wanted more. He wanted them to be _her_ rooms too. He wanted for it to be _her_ bed... _their_ bed. He wanted to wake up every morning like this. He didn’t want her only to sleep here. He wanted her to live here. With him. To be his. 

Not his friend. Not his Student. His wife. 

That wouldn’t ever happen if kept allowing this. 

If he let this continue, he knew he would cross a line. He couldn’t hold her this close, and not be tempted. He wouldn’t do that to her. He knew a man of his age and reputation could so easily manipulate someone like her. If he allowed this to continue, he would manipulate her without even intending to.

As much as he wanted her...he didn’t want her like that. As much as he loved her...he didn’t want to love her like that. 

_“She loves you...”_

Daine turned in his grasp, still asleep, and cuddled into his chest. He threaded his fingers into her hair, and bent again to kiss her forehead. 

“I won't do this to you anymore Sweetling.” he whispered. “I love you too much.” They wouldn’t share a bedroll again. He didn’t think he could refrain from ever touching her, but he wouldn’t allow himself the freedom of the last few months. He inhaled her scent, wanting to memorize the feel of her in his arms. He wasn’t going to allow this anymore. He would keep his distance.

He would have this morning...and that would have to be enough. 


	19. Alone

Numair frowned at his reflection, hating the lines around his eyes, and despising the shimmer in his hair. It wasn’t the luster of the healthy mane he had once took pride in. The moonlight was simply catching the grey threads woven through his dark locks. He had more and more appearing every day. 

Numair wasn’t a vain man, not really. He knew that  Onua had once told  Daine he took forever to get ready for court functions. But, to be honest, that was usually because he got distracted. He wasn’t vain...but he hated the reminder of how old he was getting. The older he got, the more glaring the age gap between him and  Daine seemed to be. 

He swiped angrily at the creek until the reflection blurred, splashing his face with the cold spring water. 

“What's the matter?” He could almost feel her breath on his ear, and the stream water settled out so that he could see her reflection just behind him. Her voice was small, tentative. He closed his eyes.

“Nothing magelet, I’m fine.” He opened his eyes in time to see her face fall, before her stubborn mask re-formed. She took a step back and then turned back towards their campfire. His chest cramped. He wanted to reach out to her, and his hands shook with the effort of resisting. He closed his eyes again, breathing meditatively. 

He had done well for the last fortnight. He hadn’t allowed his touch to linger. He’d resisted pulling her into his bedroll. She had seemed confused the first night he had pulled a bedroll out from Spots’ saddle bag and set in on the opposite side of the fire from hers. He was  _ “feeling ill.” _ That’s what he told her. He didn’t want to infect her. 

He assuaged his guilt by telling himself that he wasn’t lying. He did feel ill, even if it was only from want of her, and disgust with himself for deceiving her. She hadn’t argued, but he noticed that each night that he pulled out his own bedroll, she seemed to gain another visitor in hers. By the seventh night he could barely see her under the nest of fur that was martins, rabbits, foxes, and mice. She didn’t say anything, but that alone told him how hurt she was. It hurt him, to see her in pain, and his resolve faltered. Yet, he refused to yield. 

“Numair...did I do something wrong?” Her voice trembled, and he opened his eyes and turned to face her. Her back was still facing away from him. Firelight casting shadows at her side, flickering and fading as the flame danced and cracked higher. He felt his stomach lurch at her anguished tone. 

“Everything is fine Daine.” He tried to keep his voice even, but heard the faint note of ambiguity that he couldn’t hide. She turned to face him. Her face cast in shadow, and backlit from the camp’s blaze. He couldn’t see her expression. 

“Packs....” she trailed off. Numair knew what she was going to say.  _ Packs hunt together, eat together, sleep together.  _ He bit back his feeling of frustration. Did she not know how hard this was for him? 

“You’re a two-legger  Daine .” He saw her face fall a little at his words. 

“ Brokefang told me that occasionally packs make one packmate go through ‘dispersal,’ at least I think that’s the term he used.” She swallowed, glancing back towards where the horses were tethered. “He said sometimes a packmate isn’t valuable to the pack, and that they have to be dismissed from the pack.” She tilted her face towards the ground, and he saw she was fidgeting with the badger’s claw. He still couldn’t make out her face. “He said some wolves just aren’t capable of being a contributing member of the family.” She  was whispering now, shifting from one foot to the other. He could see sparks of copper light threading through her fingers. Her magic was a wild thing, fractious and impulsive, but not usually this visible. “Those are the lone wolves Numair, the ones whose pack doesn’t want them anymore.” 

He was close to her now, less than a foot away. He wondered how she had moved so near without him noticing. He didn’t think he had taken his eyes off of her for a moment. Then he realized it was him. He had moved closer to her without even being aware, his hand searching out hers. He felt her palm, small and soft, tremble in his, but she didn’t return his grasp when he squeezed it reassuringly. 

"Is this what dispersal  is Numair?” Her hand fell limply to her side. He could see her face now, being so close. Her blue grey eyes were a deep slate color, glassy with unshed tears. She blinked rapidly to keep them from falling. 

“Sweet...” his voice caught, and his throat spasmed. He brought his hand up to cup her cheek, but instead placed it over his eyes, remembering his resolve. “You aren’t one of the people  magelet ...” He said again, trying to get her to understand that this wasn’t the same thing at all. 

She took a half step back. “But I’m not a two-legger either Numair....not really.” She hugged her arms to herself, hands grasping her elbows. “I know I’m not an animal ....but I know I'm not really human.” She took another half step away from him, and he dug his heels into the dirt, forcing himself not to reach out and stop her. He could barely hear her whisper now, and her face was entirely lost in shadow.  “I just need to know if what I am...is alone?”


	20. Ruminative

She shivered against the chill. It shouldn’t be this cold. Summer was coming. Yet, tonight, she was much colder than she had been at the beginning of spring. She shuddered deeper into her bedroll, the wool scratching at her bare ankles. She felt hollow in her bones. 

Numair was typically the one who complained about the chill. She wondered if he could feel it.  _ Serves him right if he can, _ she thought. If it was up to her, they would be herded together and warm right now. But the mage had decided to go back to their former travel arrangements. He in his bedroll. She in hers. 

She swallowed back the hurt, trying not to let it bother her. He had been over apologetic the last few nights, offering to stop at inns, giving her the best of the bread, and the thickest pieces of dried meat. He had even agreed to braid her hair this evening, though he had looked unnerved when she had requested it. She had tried not to lean back into his hands, as his long fingers had threaded through her stream washed curls. She had been afraid he would spook like an unbroken colt and leave her hair half plaited. He had been so uneasy lately. Uneasy and ruminative.  _ Ruminative. _ She remembered when she had learned that word. It had been around midwinter, and a week of uninhibited immortals crossing into the mortal realms had left her agitated and annoyed. Funny that, despite  Daine’s mood, the word had been applied to Numair then as well. 

* * *

“Does it bother you?” Alanna’s voice broke through  Daine’s concentration. She knew the woman had been speaking, but to be honest, she hadn’t been listening up until now. She looked up, confused. 

“What’s that Lioness?” She placed Dark Moon’s hoof back on the stall floor. It wouldn’t pain him  anymore . 

Alanna smiled. “I was wondering if it bothers you...Numair being so temperamental all the time.” She patted the gelding's neck, and scratched at the place between his ears Diane had once mentioned he loved. “He’s been especially fickle since midwinter. His moods are all over the place.” She laughed. “I guess that’s the price you pay for having so much gift. Magic is tied to emotion, so if you have a lot of magic you are bound to be...excitable” Her smile faded. “My brother was much the same...” she trailed off, a faraway look in her amethyst eyes. “Ruminative as they come.”

“Rumin...what?”  Daine fought not to roll her eyes. She was tired of everyone using such ridiculous embellished language around here. Why couldn’t anyone ever just say what they meant?

The smile returned to Alanna’s face. “It means brainy, analytical .. you know, a person who thinks too much and is a little too lost in thought.” She tapped her  forehead with her forefinger, and  Daine laughed. 

“He’s not that bad,” she smirked, and Alanna shot her a disbelieving look. “Yes, he is fair stuck in his head a lot of the time, but he pays attention when he needs to.” She bent to inspect  Darkmoon’s rear hock, running her palm along it. 

“I suppose _you_ would say so.” Alanna chewed on her fingernail, a contemplative expression on her face.

“And why would  _ I  _ say that?”  Daine asked, annoyed again. She hated when people couldn’t just speak straight. Why did everyone in this blasted castle have to speak in riddles?

“Calm down youngling,” Alanna snorted, “I’m not trying to insult  ya .” She sounded distinctly like George, and  Daine wondered if that is what happened when you were married to someone so long. “I was just realizing that you would feel that way because, no matter his mood, Numair treats  _ you _ the same.” She paused, glancing down the stable isle as if making sure the object of their discussion wasn’t lurking around the corner. “He bites the rest of our heads off when he’s in one of his pets, but with you he’s downright...” she trailed off, and that look of dawning comprehension returned to her face. “Affectionate.” She leaned back against the stall door looking thoughtful. “Does he ever get upset with you  Daine ?”

This time it was  Daine’s turn to snort. She smoothed her hand over the horse's flank, searching with her magic. “Of course, he does. He had a tantrum this week when I told Jon I was going to that village just north of here to deal with their Griffen problem. He acted like I wanted to go deal with a group of  coldfangs . He threatened to lock me up in the tower for the duration of the war.” She rolled her eyes, missing the way Alanna nodded her head slowly. 

“Yes,” Alanna bit her lip, a distant look in her eyes. She nodded again. “like I said,  ruminative .” 

Daine breathed into  Darkmoon’s nostril, resting forehead against his muzzle.  _ If you ask me, she’s the one who’s ruminative.  _ She told the horse. He nudged her in agreement. 

* * *

Daine flipped over onto her back, scowling at the night sky. She hadn’t really thought that the word applied to Numair when she first heard it. He got lost in thought a lot, but had always seemed to include her in that thought. Now he was so absent, often staring off, and startled whenever she spoke. She could tell he was hiding something from her. Whatever it was, it seemed to be preoccupying his every thought, and precluding his ability to acknowledge her.  _ Ruminative. _ She sighed and twisted onto her side, miserable and cold. She missed her Numair. Not just him in her bedroll, but her friend, the one who had always been so “affectionate” with her. She swiped at the tear that escaped, annoyed with herself for being so emotional. 

She wondered if she would ever get him back...


	21. Don't Call It Love

Ale. Ale tasted good. Numair took another swig, motioning for the innkeeper to refill his cup. Across from him Daine frowned, a muddy curl springing loose from her headscarf and flopping into her eyes. He longed to reach out and brush it back from her face. Maybe drinking hadn’t been such a good idea after all. His frown mirrored hers. 

His body ached from the last three weeks. They had been on the move, never staying in one village more than forty-eight hours before getting a distress call from another. The immortal attacks were relentless. Each time they had stopped at an inn there hadn’t been a bed available, or there had only been one room. They hadn’t slept in a bed in days. He had adamantly refused to linger in inns with only one bed available, even when Daine had begged, stating she would sleep in the stable. There were too many enemies around for him to let her out of his sight for so long, but he didn’t trust himself to sleep in the same bed as her. His body might ache from hours on horseback, and nights on the hard ground, but it ached more from want of her. If he allowed himself to crawl into bed with her, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back. 

They had traipsed into this particular establishment an hour past sundown. Daine had been caked in mud from a battle with centaurs, and had looked like she would murder him if he refused the one room the innkeeper had stated was available. He hadn't seen that look on her face since he had forced her into that frilly pink frock in Dunlath. The inn keeper apologized profusely for not having a second room. A knight had just taken the second to last one, though the innkeep looked somewhat less than thrilled about this. 

Numair had looked at her then, tiny and covered in wet earth, and known there would be no refusing her. His body didn’t want to. He knew he would take her up that flight of stairs and draw her a bath, and then he knew he would draw her out of it and into bed. He was tired of holding back. He was tired of spending every night missing her, even when she was only three feet away across the campfire. He was going to give in. He wasn’t strong enough for this. He was half terrified and half thrilled as he paid the man for his last room. 

They had skipped the staircase that led to the sleeping quarters and stepped into the small dining hall, hoping to obtain some form of sustenance before crashing. Who knew how long they would get to be here anyway? 

And then they saw her. The redhead was hard to miss, albeit she didn’t take up much room at the empty table in the corner. 

“Alanna!” Daine’s smile had almost stifled his disappointment. Almost. “I’ll just stay in her quarters then,” she whispered to him as she walked towards the champion. Numair had taken a steadying breath, trying to mask the dejection he was sure was written all over his face...and then he had ordered an ale. 

Now here they sat, Numair on his third flagon, and sure that Alanna had seen the glare he had directed her way more than once. He ate in silence, listening to his companions exchange news, his mood darkening. Daine slid her chair back, legs screeching across the floor. “Well, I'm for bed. I need to wash this road off me, and then I am going to sleep for as long as you will let me.” She said glancing at Numair, and giving a hesitant smile. “It's been a fair long day,” she told Alanna. 

“I’ll see you up there in a few,” the redhead said. 

“Goodnight magelet,” Numair whispered, trying to keep the note of longing out of his voice as he watched her head toward the staircase. Alanna shot him a puzzled look that told him he hadn’t been successful. He didn't look back at her until Daine’s feet disappeared at the top of the landing. 

“You going to tell me why you were glaring daggers at me, or am I going to have to guess?” Alanna’s lips twisted in a smirk, and Numair glared at her again. He raised his hand to signal the kitchen maid to bring him another draught. “Oh, I guess it’s love then,” Alanna laughed, though she had the decency to bite her lip and stifle it when his glare turned into a full-on glower. “I’m not sure why love has you looking so distraught though.” She tilted her head, and Numair looked away from her, eyes traveling back to the stairwell where Daine had just disappeared. 

“Maybe it’s better if we don’t call it love...” He grunted. Alanna rolled her eyes. 

“Are we equivocating things now?” She sighed. “Or are you just drunk?” 

Numair grimaced. “I’m not drunk.” His lips twisted. “I’m just...” he trailed off. 

“We both know what you are,” Alanna cut him off. “You are just dancing around the inevitable conversation.” She leaned forward, having to actually lift her elbows up to place them onto the table. He was struck by how small she was. He often forgot that the formidable knight didn’t quite reach five-foot five. 

He blinked. “Anything I say is just going to make things even more complicated” he whispered. 

“Well, you better start by saying something Numair, because whether you do or you don’t, things are going to change.” Her eyes clouded over with sympathy. “Anyone who sees you two together already knows. It isn’t like you are fooling anyone but Daine. Don’t you think it is time you and her are on equal footing?” 

He leaned forward, rubbing his palm across his face, then taking another swig of ale. “That’s the problem isn’t it?” he said wryly. “Our footing isn’t equal at all. I am much older than her Alanna, a powerful mage,” she made a face, but he ignored her. “I was her teacher for so long, I’m still her mentor...” He glanced back towards the stairwell. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to return my affection.” 

“Bullshit.” Alanna took a swig from her own glass, slamming the mug down on the oak table with more force than her tiny body should have allowed. She looked up apologetically, and her purple eyes softened. “If we are being honest Numair, has it ever really been platonic?” She reached her hand across the table when he flinched, grasping at his. “Or are you telling me you would use a word of power for just anybody?” Her voice was soft, but it cut through his intoxicated mind like a blade. 

He looked down at his empty mug. So, she knew his secret then. She knew the depths of his depravity. She recognized fact that he had loved her even back then, in that wretched valley. “I didn’t mean to Alanna,” his voice came out in a choked whisper. He couldn’t look at her. 

She patted his hand sympathetically. “I know Numair. Sometimes these things can’t be helped.” She leaned back in her chair again. “But it doesn’t matter how it happened...or when it happened. It’s done, and now you have to decide what you are going to do about it.” 

Numair shook his head. “I know we can’t stay like this,” he reached over taking her mug and swallowing a swig of her ale. The knight scowled at him. “But I don’t want to move forward. I don’t want to lose this Alanna.” His hands shook, and he set the ale down before he further shamed himself by spilling the brown liquid down his front. “She’s my best friend. I want to...I want to go up there. I want to hold her. I want to wake up with her next to me. I want to tell her I love her more than anything. I want her to understand I would do anything for her. I want to make her mine...” his gaze deviated to the staircase yet again. “But I don’t want to lose my best friend.” A tear rolled off his chin, landing in the ale, and rippling. “I can live like this Alanna... but I can’t live without her.” 

“George said as much,” Alanna whispered. Her lips settled into a frown. “I hate it how that dratted rogue is always right.” She blew out a long exhale of air. “Maybe you’re right” she said, standing. “Maybe this is as good as your relationship will get,” she walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her purple gaze was level with his own, even though he remained sitting. “Maybe if you move forward you will lose what the two of you have...” the hand on his shoulder squeezed. “But maybe you won't.” 

She ambled towards the stairs, turning before she ducked through the archway. “Some advice though Numair,” he looked up from his mug to see her staring intently at him. “Don’t try so hard to keep her...that you end up losing her in the process.” 

With that, she walked away, vanishing up the stairs after Daine. 


	22. Revelation

She struggled to open her eyes, the heavy feeling of magical exhaustion pressing in on her. She felt weak as a newborn kitten in the spring, and her right hand felt stiff and heavy, as if her fingers were swollen. She couldn’t remember much of anything after shifting and attacking the immortal. She knew she had won the fight, knew she had stumbled back out of the clearing...knew she had seen him standing there, magic spewing out of him unharnessed and overwhelming. The last thing she had felt was the darkness of his magic frantically reaching for her...then nothing.

She tugged, attempting to bring hand to forehead, but it didn’t budge. Her eyelids flickered open, gaze falling on her hand...noting it was grasped in two much larger ones. Long fingers threaded between the space left in her own, and she realized the swollen feeling was simply the largeness of him, pressed so close. Their hands didn’t really fit that well together she realized, even as the feeling of completeness enveloped her. Her eyes flicked up to his. He brought their entwined hands up to his lips, kissing the back of her hand, and reached his other hand out to brush the curl obstructing her vision back. She saw him swallow, and opened her mouth to reassure him that despite how she felt, she was very much alive. 

“Shhhh....sweet,” he choked on the words, and she could tell from the sound that he had been crying. “Don't try and console me Daine.” He looked away, even as he pulled his chair closer to her. They were in an inn she realized, her body becoming aware of the coarseness of the roughhewn wool blanket covering her. The shutters to the one window in the room were pulled tight, but she could see at the edges that no light was seeping through. Night had fallen. She struggled to sit up, but he stood, moving to sit on the bed, and pushing her shoulders back down. “Don’t get up yet sweetling. You drained yourself.” He stroked her curls again, and she felt the tremor running through him. He was still full of magic, even after today. He stared at her, and she saw his lower jaw working over. She wondered if he was fighting anger...or something else. 

“Mair...” her mouth felt dry, and he squeezed the hand he was still holding so tight that it hurt. He shook his head. 

“I need to tell you something.” There was an oddly tentative note to his voice. It was a tone she had heard him use with others, but never with her. She squeezed his hand weakly, even that taking strength she didn’t feel like she possessed at the moment. “I should have told you a long time ago really...when I first realized it. I'm not sure now why I didn’t.” He shifted closer. “Maybe you already know,” he was muttering now. "But I need to tell you now...especially after today. I don't think I could live with myself if something happened and you didn't know..."

“Numair...” She pushed up past him so that she was sitting facing him. It took considerable effort, and she tried to hide the pain that shot through her with the exertion, but knew he would see it. “Numair?” she repeated. She could hear the worry in her own voice. He smiled, and his free hand absently stroked her knee beneath the wool blanket. 

“You’re my best friend  Magelet .” His bottom lip trembled, and  Daine had the sudden urge to cry herself. She shifted closer, forcing him to raise his arm and tuck it around her. He leaned down and kissed the crown of her curls. “You are the person I care about most in this world. I didn’t recognize it for the longest time, but you are the first person I want to see when I wake up. You are the last person I think of when I go to sleep at night. When something happens, you are the first person I seek out to tell. When a new working comes to fruition, you are the only person I am interested in discussing it with.” He inhaled, and his hand, absently or on purpose, moved higher up on her thigh. She shivered, and he tucked her closer under the wing of his arm. “You are the person I worry about most in this war,” he whispered. “I can't...” he choked. “I can’t let another day go by without you knowing how much you mean to me...how you are my best friend, my person, the person who truly matters the most to me..." She felt the dampness of tears on her hair, even if she couldn't hear them in his voice. He pulled back and stared into her eyes, and she could tell he really needed her to hear this, that he was trying to tell her something. He sounded almost desperate. "... how its been that way pretty much since you called me back from being a hawk.” It sounded like a revelation, and Daine felt the meaning of it slide into her very core, twisting around the copper fire that held her very life force. 

She found his hand again, threading the long fingers through hers. “You're my person too Numair.” She could see his body visibly relax. “In fact,” she smiled. “You are the only human I love so much to be part of my pack.” The look of relief and contentment that crossed his face was enchanting, and she struggled to tear her eyes away. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead into the bare skin exposed by the v in his tunic. They sat that way for a long while.  Daine had almost fallen back asleep, lulled by the warmth of him, and reassured by the metronome of his breathing, when he spoke again. 

“I wish we could stay like this sweet...” his arms pressed her tighter. “There isn’t anything I want more right now than to spend a quiet evening with my best friend.” She felt the heaviness of his sigh. He was silent for an extended time.

_“But Jon has need of us in Legann...”_


End file.
